


Ten Fingers

by reesesd1191



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Derek Hale is a Nice Thing, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, Torture, Tortured Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reesesd1191/pseuds/reesesd1191
Summary: I'm going to die, Stiles thought to himself.You're not going to die, Derek replied.  Stiles let out a hoarse laugh.He didn't realize that he made a sound until there was blossoming pain spreading across his chest.They're hurting you, Derek thought.It doesn't matter, Stiles thought.  I'm going to die.Or the one where Stiles is kidnapped and the only thing keeping him alive is the connection he has with a certain Hale alpha.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & The Hale Pack, Stiles Stilinski & The McCall Pack, The Hale Pack & The McCall Pack
Comments: 21
Kudos: 161





	Ten Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I published it prematurely, but the story is completed.
> 
> I’m going to put this here too, because I’ve had multiple comments about this:
> 
> There is a main character death in this story! It does have some graphic descriptions of violence!

The silence was a deafening roar in the beeswax-plugged ears of the small human boy. He wasn't _that_ small, so to say, but compared to the room that he had been trapped in for so long, he felt miniscule, useless.

 _Don't say that, Stiles_. He heard Derek say, and if Stiles had enough energy to scoff he would have scoffed.

 _Derek, I'm pretty much useless._ Stiles' mind felt hazy, like he needed glasses to see in his own mind, but even he could decipher the obvious dryness in his thoughts. _I'm going to die in here._

 _You're not going to die_. Derek says, his voice- or thoughts, was it? cutting through the blurry walls of Stiles' brain, clear and echoing in the empty room as Stiles flinched at the shadowy sound, although it was nothing but a feeling in his brain.

 _How long has it been_? Stiles asked, wiggling his toes to make sure he still had all ten. He was pretty sure he did, or else his feet could've just been numb from the pain. _Did you know that the possibility of being saved after being kidnapped decreases significantly after the first twenty four hours?_

He isn't sure where he learned that but it was probably during one of his fits of passion at four in the morning, obsessed with one of his father's cases.

 _Those are some big words_. Derek's voice sounds slightly amused despite the situation and Stiles wanted to scowl. He's deflecting the question, ignoring it.

 _How long?_ Stiles repeated , too tired to finish the rest of the question. _I'll know if you're lying, I can practically hear your thoughts._

 _Too long_ , was all Derek said, and Stiles pushed his head back, regretting that choice almost immediately as his wrists came into view, the only thing holding him up off the ground being the thick chains wrapped around his wrists, dripping in the blood of the cuts that had been caused from the digging of the metal into his flesh.

_Oh god._

_Are they_ _back?_ Derek is awake again, and Stiles didn't even realize that the man was asleep and perhaps he had been staring at his wrists for much longer than he realized, because it sounded like Derek had just woken up, his voice groggy and gravelly and it made Stiles' feet tingly.

 _I like your voice when you wake up_. Stiles elected to ignore Derek's question. They were back, but Stiles didn't know how long they had been there. They were saying something, demanding something of him, but Stiles pushed himself farther back inside his own mind, closer to Derek and the glowing pack bonds that had formed the connection. _Very dark._

 _You're not making sense_. Derek said, making Stiles scoff in his own mind as he felt the warm embrace of a blade across his chest. _Did they drug you_ _?_

 _Probably_. Stiles, always a realist. _Oh, god._

 _Are they back,_ _Stiles?_ Derek asked his question again, and Stiles had to stop himself from nodding for fear of answering one of _their_ questions accidentally when he was focused on Derek.

 _Did I ever tell you why Scott and I were out in the woods?_ Stiles asked Derek through hazy pain, clenching his jaw with what little strength he had left. 

_Scott told me once, I think_. Derek said, indulging in Stiles' unfocused thoughts. _You were looking for a dead body._

 _Half_ , Stiles said, closing his eyes as his head slowly rolled back. _Half a dead body_. He heard Derek shake his head, if that was even possible, tensing up his muscles as a cold spidery feeling snaked its way up his arm.

 _Hey, what's happening?_ Derek asked, concerned. _It feels cold._

 _Really cold._ Stiles' words were slurred even though they were inside his head as his legs went numb and the warm stinging feeling in his wrists reduced to something like a static background sound.

 _You know I was never scared of you?_ He told Derek, imagining the older man in front of him as they sat on the couch in the loft that he made the werewolf get after he saw the lack of furniture in his new home. Just the thought of home made his chest warm with relief and for a second he was able to ignore the cold water down his face as he felt comfort being pushed down the pack bonds. _I told you in the cop car. I didn't lie. You're just sad. Sad and-_

_They drugged you, Stiles._

_Oh, I know. I'm just gonna keep talking so I don't pass- ow, ow, ow._ Any relief that he was given by the others strength was cut short as he heard a crack of his left leg, probably snapping it in half.

 _Keep telling me about myself, Stiles._ Derek sounded desperate, worried, and Stiles wondered for a moment if he actually cared about the small human boy. He wondered if Derek felt the same pain in his leg, phantom like it was being broken but there was nothing wrong with it. _Of course I care. Keep talking. I'm sad. Sad, what else?_

 _You're sad_. Stiles repeated, and he imagined if his mouth was moving, his lips would be stuck together, dry and patchy, tense vocal cords only allowing him to mumble. _But you're very warm. Werewolves are like that. I bet you'd give good hugs. I wish I could hug someone right now. You, or Scott... Hell, I'd even hug Aiden. Ethan? Actually, I killed Aiden, so it'd have to be Ethan._

 _You didn't kill him._ Derek said. _That was the Nogitsune, and you know it. When we get you out we'll all give you a hug, I swear. Each one of us, Scott, Lydia, Malia, Liam._

 _You should give me a hug, Der._ Stiles said, his eyes half open in reality, staring at Derek in front of him. He looked worried, his eyebrows knitted together set low on his forehead. _I bet you'd be a good hugger._

 _You said that already, Stiles._ Derek said, and Stiles twitched his head to the side, shaking his head.

 _No, I said I killed Aiden. And that you'd give good hugs. Too very different... I'm not getting out of here, Der. I just remembered what you said before, and I thought I should respond to that part._ Stiles said, his thoughts stumbling out into Derek's like he was an open book before he could do anything to stop it.

 _We're going to get you out._ Derek said, reaching out to touch Stiles' bare chest, wrecked with blood and bruises, a broken canvas stained with all colors of the galaxy.

 _You're not real_. Stiles said after a long time. It could've been hours, but for some reason, his mind felt clearer, as if the drugs had exited his system and took away the rain that was beating down on him. Or maybe it was the feeling that most of the pack was asleep, comfort in their own rest flowing over to him and taking away the littlest bit. _They've been drugging me this entire time, you're not real._

 _I'm real, Stiles._ Derek assured him, as if he wasn't worried by Stiles' statement. _I'm real, I told you about the spells Deaton did. He strengthened the pack bond so we could communicate through it._

 _Bullshit._ Stiles said tiredly, his chest aching with the tears he was holding back as he realized he was truly alone. Whatever hallucination of Derek that had been standing in front of him, eyes filled with worry while his hands ran over his bleeding chest or running them through his matted hair was gone. Whoever was talking to his thoughts- if it wasn't just something Stiles was making up all on his own- wasn't real. _They're using you, Der. They're using you to get to me, I'm alone. I'm alone._

 _Stiles, I swear to you, I'm real._ Derek said, his voice filled with confusion as he began to listen to the rambling about some stupid dream was having.

 _You have more fingers when you dream, Derek. How come I can't feel any of my toes? I don't know what that means. I guess it would mean the same thing._ Stiles told Not Derek, feeling a tear slip out of his eye and collect at some of the dried blood on his chin. _I can't feel any of my fingers either. I remember right when I got here, they decided to cut off my ring finger. That means if I only have nine fingers now. Isn't that horrible?_

 _This isn't a dream._ Not Derek Told him, promised him. _If this was a dream, would I tell you that Scott wants you to know that he misses you, and when he gets you out he's going to hug you so hard? Or that Lydia needs you to stay awake and Malia says you'd better not die?_

 _Yes._ Stiles' voice was hoarse, desperate. _They want me to trust you. You're not real, I'm alone._

 _You're not alone, Stiles. You have your pack._ Stiles didn't answer. He didn't know how long he stayed quiet, silent in his own head; he didn't want to think, that hurt too much. When he thought, he thought of the pack and he wanted them to be there so badly, even if it was selfish of him. His only solace here was talking to Derek, and now he didn't even have him, now that he realized he wasn't real.

And Derek left him alone in his own thoughts. He stayed quiet for as long as Stiles wanted him to, knowing the boy would talk to him when he was ready. And he listened to the quiet noises Stiles echoed through his head when he was hurt over and over by them, received the floating thoughts about the pack and the people they lost.

_I'm going to die._

_I thought you weren't talking to me?_ Not Derek asked, making Stiles wish he didn't start up the conversation as comfort was pushed through the pack bonds once more.

 _I don't want to die alone._ Stiles' voice was quiet, scared. _Even if you're fake, I don't want to die alone. When was the last time I talked to you?_

Not Derek stayed quiet, as if he was unsure if he should tell the truth. _Yesterday. It's been a day since we talked._

 _Doesn't feel like a day._ Stiles mused, closing his eyes tightly. _It felt like an hour. Time gets weird when you're dying._

 _You're not dying._ Not Derek told him, and Stiles felt sadness wash over him, cold and blue like the bucket of water that had been dumped over his head seconds earlier.

 _I am._ Stiles said. _You should know, you're just in my head._

 _I'm not just in your head, Stiles._ Not Derek argued.

 _Why should I trust you?_ Stiles asked. _I don't trust you and I'm always right with who not to trust. You all never believe me._

 _We believe you when you don't trust people._ Not Derek said, although Stiles could tell the older man didn't believe it.

 _You never believed me, not when it mattered._ Stiles felt himself grow bitter, his thoughts sour and like acid down his throat. _You didn't believe me with Matt, Scott didn't believe me with Theo. Scott trusts too much. I'm always right._

 _You're wrong right now._ Not Derek said. _You were right about Matt, and Theo, and about a million other things. But you're wrong right now. You're not dying._

 _I don't even know if I have my legs attached to my body anymore Derek,_ Stiles said, his voice miserable. _I was warm before, now it's cold. It's cold and it's dark and I'm dying._

 _Please don't die._ Derek said, his voice sounding desperate and so full of emotion that Stiles hadn't seen on the werewolf before, eyes opening with a shot of surprise up his arms and legs telling him he did have all four limbs attached, one finger still missing from his left hand. That part definitely wasn't a dream. _We need you. I need you._

 _I need you too, Derek._ Stiles said. _You're a good hugger. I want to hug you. It's probably be warm. Like when you're wrapped up in a blanket in front of a fireplace._

 _It'd be exactly like that_ , Derek said, agreeing wholeheartedly, glad that he had gotten the boy to talk to him about something other than his own demise. _When we get you out, I'll give you a hug and we'll sit in front of a big fireplace under a blanket. We used to have a huge fireplace in my old house- the one we're renovating. When it's done, I'll take you there. I'll hug you until you fall asleep._

 _I'm so tired, Derek._ Stiles said as Derek paused to see if the other had anything to say.

_I know, but I need you to stay awake._

_You know I was never scared of you? I told you, in the cop car when I got you arrested. I was never scared of you, not really. You'd never hurt me._

_I know you were never scared of me._ Derek said. _Tell me more about myself. You said something before. What else? You never finished telling me before we started talking about the other things._

 _You care about people._ Stiles said, his syllables short and snappy against the back of his throat. _It doesn't look like it to anyone else but me. But you think of Scott like you're little brother. Little brother, and Malia is your niece in real life. And you treat Lydia like I'd imagine you treat a cousin or your younger sister. I can't really decide. I don't know if you ever liked me much, though. You always complained about me. Shoved me around._

 _I like you a lot, Stiles._ Derek said, interrupting the injured boy. _You're so smart. You always managed to fix every problem I gave you. You always know what to do. I never know._

_You're my anchor, Stiles. That's why you need to live._

_You need to live. I can't stay human if you leave Stiles._

It was so warm. Stiles couldn't hear Derek's thoughts anymore, but he didn't need to. The door swung open, shaking as it hit the wall and bounced back, stopped by a familiar hand, face full of relief as he rushed forwards to relieve the pressure of Stiles' limp body off of his still leaking wrists.

"Hey, Der." Stiles' voice was jumbled, cracking and hoarse as his body collapsed against the older werewolf's. Derek picked him up, holding him up as he walked out of the building, none of _them_ in sight.

"You're alive." Derek said, his voice relieved as if he wasn't talking to Stiles moments ago. Black veins crawled up his arms as he held Stiles, the pain fading from Stiles' mind as he got lighter and lighter, his mind no longer heavy and dark but airy and spaced out.

"I was just talking to you." Stiles mumbled as Derek laid him onto the couch, a fireplace a few feet in front of him crackling and roaring with warmth. "We just talked about this."

Derek sat next to him, a look of confusion on his face. "We did?" He frowned, pulling Stiles out of his painless stupor as the fire grew, flames fanning across Stiles' face. "The last time we talked was before you got taken."

Stiles frowned as Derek pulled him closer, wrapping him in the hug that the two had supposedly just talked about. Stiles pulled away, looking at the white tendrils of the fire growing in the fireplace, reaching up towards the ceiling.

"This is a dream." His voice was clear now, no sign of the exhaustion or hunger and dehydration in his voice. "I'm dying. I was just kidnapped." There was no spell cast, no telepathic connection with Derek that was keeping him alive. It was the product of a psychedelic drug and now he was dying at the hands of them and Not Derek.

"You were never kidnapped, Stiles." Not Derek Said slowly, his frown deepening as Stiles looked down at his fingers and the fire reached its hands towards Stiles' face.

Ten fingers.

Ten.

It was three days after Stiles had stopped responding to Derek's thoughts that they found his body.

It was still hanging in the abandoned building where the people Stiles had called "them" had left him. They had no purpose for him anymore since he died- since his side of the pack bonds had been filled with so much agony that it became a numb pain that only encouraged them to fight more- that they had just moved on, not caring of what they had ruined and what they left behind for the pack to find.

His body was covered in bruises in cuts, a large gash across his chest and his hair was stuck to his cold forehead, probably from the water they poured on him whenever they thought he passed out- or maybe it was from the blood running from the cuts hidden in his dirty hair.

Derek _almost_ cried out, but he stopped himself, reminded himself to stay strong for the young teenagers he knew were pushing to look over his shoulders as they opened the door to see the dead, decomposing body of their best friend, their brother, their anchor.

When they released his body from the chains that still held up his limp figure, Derek was the one to catch him, fingers lacing with the cold, dead, hand.

Nine fingers.

Nine.


End file.
